The Lover Mourns for the Loss of Love

Out of blue nowhere came guns,
Came, horses—dogs—men
Clothed in blue steel.

Slow disintegrating fingers
Touched the trees,
Touched mountains—plains—buffaloes—
Touched men. . . .

The Indians did not know
They were dead men, walking;

Columbus did not know
He brought that time to an end.

Think deep of that world,
And remember
That world's end—
Ticked off by an accidental stop-watch,
Not now—but then. . . .
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